What Time Is

Time is an asshole. He's some sort of operative,
Lurking a couple rows back in the crowd,
Barely seen, somehow ruining both of our
Lives. My niece taps her foot. I've no doubt
That she's petulant. Time's dragging grievously
Here with the relatives. Everywhere else,
She can sense, things are happening, concerts
And parties, walks along beaches, or something,
Some tacos for lunch with that Kyle from
The soccer team. Meanwhile, I glance at Time,
And he's smirking. In my case, he's forced
Everything to accelerate. I don't want Kyle
Or Emma, or anyone, nor do I fear, as my niece
Does, that I will miss out on the best parts of life,
But I'd swear that I'm not too much older than she,
Even as Time begins to laugh loudly, and says,
“Sixty years have gone by.”



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 35 times
Written on 2021-09-05 at 17:57

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